


The Dickening

by Sintero



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Guardians of the Galaxy - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, NSFW Illustration at the end, PWP, Public Hand Jobs, Ravager!Ronan, Shower Sex, overplayed tropes put to good use, weird xeno anatomy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 10:04:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6901492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sintero/pseuds/Sintero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumor had been flitting throughout the Elector that Yondu was going to be bringing a new Ravager officer on board to serve as captain in his absence. But, the rumor mill had failed to mention that the guy was a disgraced Kree Accuser with a jawline that went on for days. </p><p>This is a shameless PWP prompt fill for @scorpling, who requested: “Peter sees Ronan naked for the first time, and Ronan has the weirdest alien dick Peter has ever seen.”</p><p> </p><p>  <b>NSFW illustration at the end.</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dickening

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bluethenstaub](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluethenstaub/gifts).



Peter absently massaged shampoo into his scalp until the thick lather spilled over his shoulders. If there was any singular pleasure in the universe greater than a plumbing system with a perpetual heat source, he had yet to discover it.

He moaned into the cascade of water sluicing down his body, oblivious to the hissing servos of the communal shower-room door.

Unexpectedly, the water pressure flickered and the pipes bemoaned the added draw of another shower tap. Peter quickly wiped the water from his eyes and swept his hair back, the motion ingrained and automatic.

The newcomer took up the space immediately adjacent without any care for social propriety. Though, Peter didn't exactly have the high-ground in terms of observing social niceties. He stood gaping at his new shower-mate perhaps a bit longer than was socially acceptable by any species’ standards.

Rumor had been flitting throughout the _Elector_ that Yondu was going to be bringing a new Ravager officer on board to serve as captain in his absence. But the rumor mill had failed to mention that the guy was some bad-ass, disgraced Kree Accuser with a jawline that went on for days. Seriously, the man could chisel stone with those cheekbones alone.  

And holy shit, if blue wasn’t Peter’s favorite color two minutes ago it certainly was now. Ronan confidently stood in the spray no more than a meter away despite the availability of numerous other shower apertures in the facility. Massive cords of muscle flexed beneath his skin in a mesmerizing display of strength and dedication to his craft. Peter had heard the lewd jokes about the ease with which Ronan handled the shaft of his Universal Weapon, but those forearms were nothing to joke about.

Biting his knuckles, he covertly admired the way that the Kree’s bulging musculature tapered down into one of the most toned set of buttocks he had ever seen.

“Sweet mother of mercy,” he mumbled into the shower spray as he turned the heat mostly off and dunked his head once more. All of the cold water in the universe would never erase that fleeting glimpse from his mind.

Peter’s face lit up with a mischievous grin as he retrieved his soap bar and resumed washing his neck.

He absolutely had to get another peek.

Ruthlessly struggling to restrain his grin, he pretended to stumble over the uneven grout lines and launched his soap. It tumbled in a graceful arc that would have landed perfectly at Ronan’s feet if the man hadn’t effortlessly intercepted its trajectory and batted it back with flawless accuracy.

Without pause, Ronan continued to perfunctorily lather his chest and stomach.

Peter simply gaped, eyes dropping from the Kree’s austere face to the bar of soap swirling to a stop between his own feet.

“It would appear that you have dropped your detergent bar,” Ronan drawled as he systematically scrubbed his muscular arms. Every last iota of self-preservation instinct in Peter’s body screamed a resounding warning.

“Oh, shit,” he hissed like a mantra, spinning towards the shower control panel. He quickly punched the small symbol that loosely translated to ‘ _exit/off’_ on the shower command display and attempted to beat a hasty retreat. Suds lingered on his stomach and thighs like fluffy little islands.

Before he could make it two steps, Ronan clamped a hand around his wrist like a vice and spun him back into the Kree’s own sputtering shower spray. His feet slid on the precariously slick tile and Peter barely managed to catch himself against the wall, eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline.

Despite the danger inherent in the situation, he couldn’t help but appreciate the new angle afforded him now that Ronan was giving him the full frontal experience. 

“Perhaps Terrans are deaf as well as deficient in subterfuge. I will not have you disrespecting the order of this ship. Pick-up the detergent bar, boy,” the Kree growled, jarring Peter out of memorizing the topography of those glorious, blue pectorals.

If Peter had any doubts that the Kree wouldn't be able to keep the Ravagers in line in Yondu's abscense, they were quickly and succinctly mollified.

“Yeah, uh just as soon as, you know, I can have my arm back,” he squeaked with a pointed tug.

Unconcerned with the awkwardness inherent in their situation, Ronan merely squeezed harder and herded Peter back up against the shower wall. “What is your name, boy?” he growled.

“Peter. Peter Quill. But the crew calls me Starlord. I'm kind of a big deal around here,” Peter responded with an affected bravado to mask his trembling knees. The Kree’s unwavering attention certainly wasn’t helping matters.

“I assure you, you are no such thing,” Ronan stated coldly. The searing line of his gaze made Peter fidget in the near painful spray of water. “Pick up the soap, _Starlord_ ,” he sneered.

Peter certainly wasn’t the highest powered pulse pistol in the armory, but he knew when he was bested. Without further complaint, he squatted down and picked up the offending object as quickly as possible. However, before he was able to stand once more, he made the mistake of glancing up.

Pausing, he stared openly at the generously sized cock on display not two feet from his face. He swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. That…that was certainly different.

Ronan’s phallus hung heavily against his thighs, flushed deep-blue at the tip and fading as it molded to the muscle of his pelvis. Flared ridges graced the underside of his shaft and stretched up to frame seemingly transparent windows through which bioluminescent muscle fibers glowed subtly. Sure, Peter had come across more inhuman protrusions and orifices than he could shake a stick at. But the Kree was so humanoid in appearance that the oddness of his member was jarringly unexpected.

“Is there a problem, Terran?” Ronan asked threateningly, break the awkward silence that had descended between them.

Peter sputtered and stumbled on his words, but managed a strangled reply. “Now, don’t take this the wrong way, man, but I’ve had more than my fair share of close encounters with alien dick and yours is by far the weirdest I’ve ever seen.” He canted his head and considered the massive cock for another moment.  “I kind of want to touch it,” he murmured, absently carding his fingers through his sodden hair.

Ronan grunted in what could have been mistaken as unexpected humor. Only then did Peter realize that he had said the last thought aloud. 

He abruptly shot to his feet and fumbled the soap in his haste, unintentionally this time. Without pause, Ronan caught it with a deft hand and reached around Peter to set it back into its container on the wall with finality. The move unintentionally closed the gap between them.

They stood there for a long, tense moment, separated by scant inches of falling water.

“You will stand against the wall and proffer your hand,” Ronan began, gluing his shower companion to the spot with a firm glare. He slowly appraised Peter's body as he stood nude and motionless in the shower spray. “Too, you will keep your trite thoughts locked within the vacant hollow where your brain should reside. I will not tolerate so much as the whisper of a clever quip. Am I understood?”

The threat in Ronan’s voice garnered no argument.

“Sir, yes, sir,” Peter responded hesitantly. He flashed what he hoped to be a disarming grin.

Ronan abruptly grasped his shoulders, hard enough to bruise, and shoved him back until Peter half-fell against the slick wall.

“Very well, Quill. You may touch,” the Kree stated.

In answer, Peter hesitantly placed his hands on Ronan's chest. There was no give whatsoever in that firm flesh. Bitiing his bottom lip, Peter blinked water from his eyelashes and proceeded to slide his hands down Ronan’s deeply scored abdominals. His fingertips followed the dangerous V of muscle down to where the Kree’s cock lay long and heavy between his thighs. Ronan’s eyes narrowed in challenge, but his façade remained otherwise impassive.

Peter took a deep breath to calm his nerves and tentatively cupped his hand beneath the thickest portion of Ronan’s nonuniform shaft. It pulsed steadily in his hand. He took a moment to accommodate to the feel of soft, fleshy ridges flaring and receding in his palm like gaping fish gills. How that thought sent a curl of arousal to his own half-hard cock, Peter would never know.

“This is quite possibly the most confusing boner I’ve ever had. Seriously. I mean, if I had to rank this on my list of strangest sexual encounters it would at least be in the top five,” he rambled, trying mightily not to quaver too obviously.

Ronan’s brow merely furrowed further in response.  “I believe I ordered your silence,” he retorted with a snarl.

Eyes wide, Peter resolved to focus on the task at hand. Or, more accurately, in-hand.

He slid his palm up the firm shaft and allowed his fingers to linger on the series of small apertures on each ridge. Gaining confidence from the subtle quiver of Ronan’s thighs, Peter gently massaged the seemingly delicate windows until a viscous fluid began to rapidly coat his hand.

“Uh, did I just break something?” he asked hesitantly, hand slowing to a halt. Ronan merely canted his head, the ghost of a smirk causing his lip to twitch.

“My species self-lubricates when aroused,” he stated clinically.

“Ah, gotcha. That sounds pretty convenient, actually,” Peter replied, thoughtful. The fall of water continued to crash around them, but Ronan’s bulk blocked the majority of it from interfering with Peter’s gentle ministrations. He continued to stroke Ronan’s rapidly swelling phallus, generating more friction during the motion with a practiced roll of his wrist.

Ronan’s dick may have looked like a caterpillar fucked a glow stick then shat out a Lisa Frank trapper keeper, but it felt almost humanoid with a bit of handling.

That was, of course, until slender tendrils slipped out of the apertures like tongues to playfully lap the water from Peter’s fingers. He glanced down in horror as images of Cthulhu-like tentacles invaded his mind, but was instead met with glowing, diaphanous slips that gently writhed against his skin, reminiscent of bioluminescent jellyfish. They were quite beautiful in a should-be-on-a-hydrozoa-and-not-bursting-out-of-a dick way.

“And, um, what are those?” he asked, thankful that he managed to suppress the note of unease in his voice.

“Neural axons,” Ronan replied as if the answer were obvious. The dozen pairs of axons swayed gently on an invisible eddy and traced meandering patterns over Peter’s skin. Before he could ask for clarification, the tendrils latched onto the back of his hand and pulled it up tightly against Ronan’s cock. A sharp bolt of electricity arched down his spine and took up residence in his own aching erection.

“This is so not okay!” Peter exclaimed, squirming.

Though, the discomfort resolved quickly and was instead replaced with the warm feeling of a ghost-like hand on Peter’s own erection.

Regardless, he frantically tried to release his grip of Ronan’s cock and flee from the alien sensation, only to be drawn up short by the wall at his back and Ronan’s firm grip on his shoulders. Feet slipping in the standing water, Peter struggled against the near immovable mountain of muscle pinning him forcibly.

“Compose yourself, infernal Terran. What you are experiencing is merely an echo of my own pleasure. If you would but cease your baseless protestations, you might find that you enjoy the sensation,” Ronan instructed in a level tone.

Peter wasn’t buying it.

Sensing his crew-mate’s continued apprehension, Ronan cradled his jaw in one hand and leaned down to take his lips in a searing, if impersonal, kiss. They stayed that way for a long moment until Peter finally melted beneath Ronan’s skilled tongue and once more started to stroke the Kree’s phallus with short, tenative pulls.

Not that Peter would ever admit it to Mr. No means Yes, but Ronan was right. It was actually pretty incredible to share the sensation of his own questing hand. The mutual sensation made it easier to adjust his hold and trial variations of touch in an effort to pull out the most powerful responses he could.

Ronan’s eyelids fluttered and he began to breathe through parted lips as arousal curled about his stomach and pulled his abdominals taut.

Peter echoed the sentiment with a deep, guttural groan of approval. Mindful of the axons, his shifted his grip so that he could cup his hands together and press down to simulate the feel of penetration.

Apparently that was exactly what was required to turn the building pressure behind both of their eyes into a mind-shattering crescendo. With a strangled scream, Peter came into the shower spray in a serious of powerful spurts despite his own cock remaining completely untouched. Ronan, in turn, thrust twice more before falling into the yawning chasm of his own orgasm and flooding Peter’s palms with dark-blue release. Despite his legendary control, the Kree groaned gutturally and ground against the tight tunnel surrounding his cock to wring out the last vestiges of his pleasure.

He had perhaps misjudged this man. Despite his naive appearance, Peter was much more skilled than he had suspected.

He surveyed Peter’s flushed body, eyes lingering on each curve and swell. “Perhaps,” he drawled, pausing for a brief moment as if in thought. “Perhaps you should report to my quarters for a debriefing. Your simple Terran mind would likely benefit from a more… _in-depth_ review of the _Elector_ ’s next mission statement.”

With a dangerous leer, Ronan leaned over Peter to adjust the water pressure to more Terran levels of comfort and slowly disengaged his phallus from Peter's lingering fingertips.

“I will be expecting you shortly, Quill.”

Peter simply gaped at Ronan’s retreating back through the curtain of shower spray. Translucent strings of blue come circled the bottom of the shower stall and into the drain with a quiet gurgle.

 

 

 

Ladies and gentleman, I give you, Ronan’s crazy-ass dick:

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, not sorry. XD


End file.
